Intentionally or not, it creates a sort of natural, autumnal closure -- like a gorgeous, lazy, completely uncommitted fall afternoon delivered in three- to five-minute slices.

They've mostly dropped the songs that traded entirely on their sexuality, replacing them with tunes full of nuance and subtlety.

It's a long, occasionally ponderous listen... but it's an impressive and rewarding journey that moves between prog, space-rock and subdural transmissions in ancient alien tongues.

A strong contender for album of the year, Shaking the Sheets is a masterpiece of fucked-up mod pop: political but not preachy, insistent yet never twitchy, respectful but never blatant.

It sticks with what Jimmy Eat World have always done, but it sounds better than anything that preceded it.

His machinegun flow is as cerebral as ever, but too much of the album's production slides by in a dignified haze of twinkling clips and clacks, devoid of real grime or grizzled substance.

It's simply wonderful -- bristling with pop masterpieces large and small, and reassuringly unburdened by Smith's deep-seated malaise.

Far more mysterious and (perhaps not coincidentally) alluring than most Buckner outings, Dents and Shells is a claustrophobic comedown album wrapped in disillusion and sorrow.

Their most musically adventurous yet artistically grounded record to date.

Even though Mississauga Goddamn isn't completely without flaw -- some of Gibb's lyrical and compositional choices are pretty obvious, for one thing -- it allows you, for a little while, at least, to escape from the everyday world.

There is no shortage of understated brilliance on Love Songs for Patriots.

It's quite a treat to hear the duo create such refreshingly original music with rock's "standard" instruments.

The result is so refreshing original, it not only cements Gold Chains' position as one of today's best and brightest indie-tech gurus; it also says, coolly and effortlessly, that genre boundaries are "no big thang".

Real Gone may not rock your world in the way that 2002's musical one-two punch of Blood Money and Alice did, but you'll still be glad to hear it.

Power is only a slight variation on its predecessors, yet sounds more vibrant and alive than almost anything in the band's canon.

Damage is definitely more up-front about its hip-hop influences than past Blues Explosion records, but the core Blues Explosion identity remains intact.

Young Prayer is a visceral religious experience, its lyrics forsaken in favor of mantras that are more chanted than sung.

One of the best and most moving albums of the year.

They've truly hit their stride on Universal Audio.

You might expect the resulting album to be disjointed and schizo, but it's actually a cohesive collection of potential hit singles held together by an incomparable performer.

It's powerful, clever, and you can dance to it.

There's an intermittent psychedelia here that lifts even the most deadpan tracks into sunny pop territory, as sweeping, swooning So-Cal melodies erupt from its cavernous grooves.

You will love some or all of these ten tracks, but for reasons you don't quite understand, you may never love the album as a whole.

While the band has adeptly navigated the waters of change, a few moments on Night on Fire are simply too slick for their own good.

City is a noticeably fleshier beast than its predecessor; the album is lush and sophisticated with hooks aplenty.

Where Belle and Sebastian alienate their listeners with emotional detachment and indie superiority, Memphis's songs leave the posing and the cuteness at the door; they are accessible and honest.

American Idiot isn't so much meticulously crafted as it is unflinchingly audacious.

Overall, the album is more centered and collaborative and celebratory than anything Banhart has done before.